


Inconvenient timing - but when isn't it inconvenient?

by HikariYumi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crowley doesn't want Dean dead, Dean has to stay at the motel, Dean is Not Amused, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, ficlett, vague mentioning of a mythical creature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9068476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HikariYumi/pseuds/HikariYumi
Summary: Dean broke his leg on a hunt and consequently is forced to stay in motel for the next one. Of course that doesn't go well.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys who accidentally dropped by!  
> This is my second Supernatural fanfic... and well.. it developed out of the quick idea of Dean with a broken leg and being more vulnerable to attacks than he would be normally.  
> And since I'm a big fan of Crowley, i had to throw him into that, too..
> 
> Dont expect a well rounded plot, or any plot at all.. it's just a little thingy I wanted to write down.
> 
> Since I'm no native speaker (and my beta can't find everything i do wrong) please point out mistakes if you find some and are up to it.
> 
> That being said, I hope you've at least a bit fun! ;)
> 
> ~Hikari

Inconvenient timing – but when isn't it inconvenient?

Dean grumpily took a sip of his beer and continued scrolling through a website of lore. This was Sammy’s job, he was the one who was used to operate this thing for research, his department was something else entirely.

But no, thanks to the sonofabitch monster which had knocked him across a fucking construction site, he was forced to keep his ass in the motel while Sammy got to do the fun part.

Still, the motel was way better than the hospital where he had been before, so Dean should call himself lucky, at least in his brother’s opinion. It must have looked really nasty as the older hunter was slammed against a construction vehicle and, from there, fell into the pit where the basement should be built the next morning.

~

Normally Dean was really skilled in avoiding bigger fight injuries, he was trained for this the bigger part of his life after all, he could deal with a knife fight the first thing in the morning and get away without a scratch most of the time, but the collision of his back with the metal vehicle had stunned him for a second too long to be able to react.

Luckily, it only had taken Sam only a few more seconds to kill the monster, so at least that wasn’t a big problem Dean had to worry about after he noticed that his leg was broken and he consequently wasn’t able to climb back up alone. It took them around half an hour to maneuver the older Winchester back out of the unfinished basement to street level, but the annoying part wasn’t over yet. 

Sam got the Impala's keys from Dean, who was far from happy about the crappy way this hunt had gone and could really have used a drive to calm himself down.

But that wasn’t possible because his goddamn leg was broken and would stay like that for quite some time.

Another few hours later, they could finally check out of the hospital again, the older one silently cursing the whole way to the car. Sam, meanwhile, could chuckle freely now that he could be certain that his brother was going to be alright.

And he wasn’t the only one, a few other patients grinned as the hunter hastily hobbled on his crutches through the lobby and the parking lot, wearing no pants besides boxers, since they wouldn’t have fit over the cast. That additionally to the faint blush and something Sam called “rage pout” was just a too good sight to not enjoy. 

“Don’t you dare laugh at me, Sammy. That’s how you treat your big brother?”

Said hunter couldn’t find himself to care and just patted Dean on his shoulder lightly. “Don’t worry Dean, its only eight weeks.”

Dean groaned.

~

The Winchester snapped the laptop shut exasperatedly, unwilling to deal with that shit any longer. His bottle was empty by now and all Dean wanted was not being here in his goddamn boring room.

“Hey Sammy, how’s it goin’?” Sams’ annoyed exhale relayed enough information to give a solid guess.

“I could help, you could just pick me up here and-“

“No, Dean, I’m not going to pick you up. You can’t fight like this when shit goes down, and let's be honest, when isn't it going wrong? You can’t even run away, You'll stay where you are and rest a bit. That’s overdue anyways, use the opportunity.”

The older brother wanted to reply with a witty remark, but before he could even do as much as open his mouth, the call had disconnected.

A few hours of frustrating inactivity later, which Dean tried to fill with re-watching Doctor Sexy as well as a few old cartoons, he just couldn’t stand it any longer. Determinedly, he pushed himself up from the bed and hobbled over to the bathroom door. He wasn’t sure what he actually wanted to do, but he could think about that later.

So the Winchester pealed himself out of his shirt as well as his pair of soft sweatpants and cleaned himself as thoroughly as possible. Next, he grabbed his biggest pair of jeans before realizing that the fabric was way too stiff to force it upon his cast. Dean swore and grumpily put on his suit pants, which was a challenge in itself.

Nearly an hour later, he was dressed in his usual, loose FBI suit and still had no idea what to do now that he had come this far.

The scrawny boy at the reception blinked, startled, when Dean climbed down the staircase with his crutches, looking like he mad as he was half jumping down the stairs. But what should he do? Because of course that shithole didn’t have an elevator.

Once again pissed off by his situation, the Winchester left the motel, white cast and baby-blue crutches open on display for everyone. “I look ridiculous,” he mumbled, but everything was better than hanging around in his room for an indefinite amount of time without anything useful to do.

A strangled cry sounded from the building he had exited. Instantly Dean turned around, passing the still (or again) confused receptionist and paused in front of the staircase. Of course the whatever-it-was couldn’t have happened five minutes earlier, could it?

By the time he arrived on the second floor, the scream had subsided and the only remaining sound was a dark, vibrating, animal-like noise. The reason for that was obviously that the middle-aged, balding guy who most likely had been the one Dean had heard before, was dead. 

Over the bloody body cowered an enormous cat-like creature. It resembled a cougar, at least it did as long as the Winchester was only able to see its backside. Swallowing thickly, he angled for his gun and released the safety catch slowly.

But that little click was enough to catch the attention of the beast. “Fuck.”

The cat was darker on the forefront, the brown fur stained with dark red and black, most likely from attacking and killing its victims and its eyes were glowing as well. Dean pulled the trigger and after that a few more times for good measure, targeting the things head as well as its chest and legs. It didn’t have any effect other than to enrage it even more.

Fantastic.

The cat let out an intimidating growl that made the hair on Deans neck stand upright and in the next second, the hunter could inspect the beast's mouth more closely than he had desired. Its yellow fangs were bloodied and even over the distance of two meters, the breath smelled deathly.

Dean inched back a few steps, clutching his two crutches to his chest, once more cursing his unbelievable luck. That really didn’t look good for him. He would end up just like the poor bastard on the ground, ripped open while still alive by an overgrown house-cat. What a way to go.

The moment when the beast had managed to force the Winchester into the corridors' corner (because there had been no way for him to go down the stairs backwards) he tried to shoot it again, as if that would have a different effect this time.

It didn’t, and so Dean was left with closing his eyes and praying Sammy would be alright without him.

The low growl changed into a shrieking noise and then into a pained hiss; two heartbeats later, there was a loud thump and after that, nothing.

Dean opened his eyes and found himself half-crouched down in front of the cat, which lay motionlessly on the raddled carpet, a dark blade sticking out of its back.

And behind it, Crowley.

“Hello squirrel, all alone today?” the King of Hell greeted him with a mockingly raised eyebrow and a little grin.

“Shut up, Crowley, what are you doing here?” The Winchester fought himself back to his feet with the help of his crutches and the dirty motel wall. 

“You really need to work on your manners, boy. What would Daddy say?” Dean closed his eyes to compose himself. He would not hit Crowley. “And if I may say so, you look ridiculous.” His fist never connected with the demon kings face, instead he suddenly was in said demons' firm hold, unable to move an inch. “If I am rescuing your sorry ass, you are going to say thank you like a good boy, you hear me, Dean?” 

The hunter was tempted to spit, but indeed knew better than to enrage Crowley.

Out of clenched teeth Dean murmured the requested “thank you” and the hands which had held him in place were gone in the next second. He swayed and without the support of his injured leg tumbled back to the ground. “Dammit.”

“That’s it, boy. Remember that next time.”

Crowley hesitated and looked down, gaze flickering between the dead creature and Dean. “How did you even manage to find a Wampus cat these days? Their last occurrence was back in 1813, I have to know it, I’ve been there. Sweet things, but I prefer dogs, as you know.”

Dean decided to ignore the question, Sam and he hadn’t even known what to look for until that cat had appeared in the motel, so he had no idea how they had even drawn attention to themselves.

“Need help, boy, or do you plan to stay there?”

Taking help of the demon in a state like this was one of the last things he wanted, but Dean had to admit, that it would make things considerably easier. “If you don’t mind.”

And the smug bastard smirked, but at least had the decency to support the Winchester back to his room without another word about it.

“I’ll take care of the mess, you just stay out of trouble for a minute. If I would want you dead, I would kill you myself. I’ve got plans for you Dean, don’t you dare interfere with them.”

Crowley was gone before Dean could reply that he didn’t plan to interfere with those dubious plans of his by dying, but by killing Crowley if necessary.

On the other hand, he was sure the King of Hell was aware of this fact, since despite the fact that he had to rescue and help the Winchesters out every now and then, he had never made the mistake to underestimate them.

~

Thirty minutes later, Sam entered their motel room to find his older brother passed out on his bed in rumpled and dirty clothes. When he woke him and asked what had happened, he only received a vague answer about being bored and taking a little walk.

Knowing Dean well enough after all these years, Sam didn't poke any further and instead only sent him a pointed look when his laptop screen showed common lore about a Wampus cat the next day.


End file.
